


tripping eyes and flooded lungs

by Murf1307



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Emotional Baggage, Friendship/Love, Hot Chocolate, Implied/Referenced Terrorism, M/M, Making Up, Post - X-Men: The Last Stand (2006), Pre-Slash, Scars, Thunderstorms, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 14:25:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4225236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murf1307/pseuds/Murf1307
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Alcatraz, John secludes himself.  One afternoon in July, Bobby's had enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tripping eyes and flooded lungs

**Author's Note:**

> written for a tumblr prompt. it got rather spectacularly out of hand.

John isn’t big on rain, not since his powers manifested.  Rain puts fire out, and he resents that a little.  And he resents a lot how Bobby likes rain more than he likes him — he resents that a _lot_ , actually.  Even though he shouldn’t.  It’s his damn fault that Bobby really can’t stand him anymore.  
  
He’s been back at the institute for a month.  He’s lucky they haven’t turned him over to the government, really — he was Magneto’s second in command, toward the end, and his hands are far from clean in general.  And even if they can’t prove anything, there’s no way he wouldn’t be convicted in a court of law.   
  
So, he makes due, and he is grateful for what he can get.  He keeps his distance, from all of them really, because they know what he is, even if they’re pretending he isn’t when they do have to interact.  
  
Right now, he’s perched by the kitchen window, watching the rain come down, rivulets on the glass.  The wind makes the mansion creak, no matter how many additions and renovations the place has no doubt seen over the years, and there’s a low roll of thunder in the distance.  
  
John resents it, even though he shouldn’t.  
  
There’s movement behind him, but he doesn’t react.  If he pretends he doesn’t know they’re there, people will usually leave him alone.  
  
Footsteps, though, they don’t recede down the hall, or still by the counter.  In the pale reflection of the window, he sees it’s Bobby, holding two mugs of something — hot chocolate, judging from the smell, even though it’s July.  
  
Bobby doesn’t say anything, but he steps up next to John and presses the side of the warm mug against John’s elbow.  
  
John takes the mug, because he’s not going to make it any more awkward by refusing.  
  
“I think a little later I’m gonna go outside,” Bobby muses, like this is normal.  
  
“We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you wanna stop and feel the rain?” John looks at him, can’t help himself.  When it comes to Bobby, he’s not sure he ever could.  
  
Bobby smiles a little, just a quirk at the corners of his mouth.  “Well, yeah.  It’s — peaceful.  With just a hint of danger.”  
  
John shakes his head.  “I don’t get the appeal.”  
  
“Of peaceful?”  
  
That’s not what he’d meant at all.  “Of rain.”  He gets the appeal of _peaceful_  just fine.  The only peace he’s ever found, though, is standing right next to him, steady and much too far away.  
  
“It feels good.  It’s…when it’s warm, it’s comfortable, and when it’s cold, it wakes you up.”  Bobby shrugs a little and takes a sip from his own mug.  “And…when you’re alone outside in a thunderstorm…it’s like it’s just you and the storm.  You feel smaller, but…it’s not like you’re really _alone_ , either.  It’s like you’re part of the world around you.”  
  
John wishes he could have that feeling, but it’s not in him.  “Good for you, then, I guess.”  
  
“I guess,” Bobby echoes.  He’s very quiet for a long moment, and when he speaks next, he’s looking firmly out at the driving rain.  “You didn’t have to move out of our room, you know.”  
  
“Oh yeah?”  John makes a soft, derisive noise.    
  
“Yeah.”  
  
They’re both quiet, then, because John isn’t sure what to say.  Of _course_  he’d had to move out.  After everything he’s done, and with Bobby at the focal point of most of it, there was no way he could stay.  John knows better than to hope for that.  Apparently, Bobby doesn’t.  
  
“It’s weird, without you there.”  
  
“You’ll get over it.”  John shrugs.  “You don’t actually want me there, anyway.”  
  
Bobby looks at him, raising an eyebrow and frowning.  “I never said that.”  
  
John looks away.  “You never had to.”   
  
“Did you ever think to ask, or something?  Instead of just assuming everything?”  Bobby's frown deepens, brows furrowing.  “That’s always been your problem.  You never ask.”  
  
“Oh, what, so you _want_  me living in your pocket again?  Is this some twisted ‘keep the terrorist on a short leash’ kind of thing?”  
  
The word ‘terrorist’ makes Bobby flinch, and John is reminded bitterly of the way Mrs. Drake had flinched when he’d said the word ‘mutant’ in her living room.  Bobby sets his jaw, though, and replies, “It’s not that.  Jesus, John.  I just — like I said, it’s weird without you there.”  
  
“And like I said, you’ll get over it.”  
  
“Should I have to?”  Bobby’s expression is as quiet as his voice.  “Because I’ll stop talking about it if you want me to stop.”  
  
John can’t look at him, because he doesn’t deserve this.  “After everything I’ve done,” he mutters, turning to go.  He doesn’t know what else to do.  Part of him would like nothing more than to go back to the way things were before he left, but there’s nothing he can do to make that happen.  He’s not the person he was six months ago, and he knows it’s the same for Bobby.  
  
“This was supposed to be a fresh start for you,” Bobby says, carefully.  “You’re the one who’s insisting it’s got to be a punishment.”  
  
“How do you know?” John twists back around, frowning.  
  
“I asked them to give you another chance, okay?”  Bobby sighs and walks over to the island in the center of the kitchen.  “Storm and Logan were going to hand you over to the government.  You weren’t even conscious yet.  I asked them not to.”  
  
It doesn’t make sense.  It really, really doesn’t.  “Why?”  
  
“I was scared.”  Bobby sits on a stool and hunches over his hot chocolate.  “They would’ve cured you or killed you or something, if we handed you over.”  
  
John’s stomach twists.  “What should that matter to you?”  
  
“You were my _best friend,_  John!”  Bobby turns back at him, and, god, that’s _anguish_  in his expression. “You were my best friend, and then you weren’t because you were _gone_ , and you did all this shit and I — I don’t understand any of it because you don’t talk to me anymore but I at least wanted the chance to figure it out.”  
  
“I — I’m sorry.  I didn’t know.”  John swallows, setting his half-full mug on the windowsill.  His hands are shaking.    
  
Bobby shakes his head, flushing with embarrassment.  “You never asked.”  
  
“I should’ve.”  John steps toward Bobby, nervously.  Thunder’s rolling quietly in the distance, but John’s not paying attention to the rain anymore.  “I really, really should’ve.”  
  
“It’s okay.”  
  
“But it’s not, is it?”  John shoves his hands in his pockets.  “I — I did some really bad things, Bobby.  You know that.  You saw.”  
  
“I know.”  Bobby nods.  
  
John bites his lips.  “You should probably hate me.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“You really shouldn’t want to share a room with me.”  John isn’t sure how to parse Bobby’s expression — it’s like he _should_  know what Bobby’s face is saying, but he doesn’t.  And it’s starting to freak him out a little bit.  
  
Bobby shakes his head.  “None of it matters.  Not enough, anyway.  And maybe that makes me a bad person, or selfish, or something, but…you were the best friend I ever had.”  
  
“Only you would call saving me _selfish_.”  John actually laughs a little at that.  “But thanks, I guess.”  
  
“It’s not like I did it for _you,_  or, sort of, but, you know.  I did it because I didn’t want to lose you again.  Or I wanted you back, or something.”  
  
John smiles, just a little.  “Thanks.”  
  
Bobby pauses, looking at him.  “That’s — I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you smile since you came back, actually.”  
  
“Oh?”  John blinks a little, frowning again.  “Really?”  
  
“Yeah.  I mean, I hardly see you at all, and you — you always seem uncomfortable.  Even when you’re pretending you’re okay.”  
  
“I’m fine.”  
  
“No, you’re not, John.  Neither am I.”  Bobby puts his mug down and slides off the stool.  “And it’s okay, I guess.  Or it will be.  But you don’t have to pretend you’re okay right now.”  
  
John feels more ashamed than ever, and he looks down, scratching the back of his neck.  “I’m sorry.”  
  
“I know.  Anybody who spends more than five minutes around you knows that.”  Bobby walks back over to him.  “We can all tell you’re avoiding us, y’know.  And you don’t have to.”  
  
It’s not quite forgiveness, but it’s close enough to be frightening.  
  
“So…”  John looks up at him.  “What now?  I just…move back into your room, and we act like I didn’t spend the last six months doing things that would make you sick to hear about?”  
  
A last ditch effort, because he doesn’t deserve what Bobby’s offering him, but he doesn’t have the strength of will to turn it down outright.  
  
Bobby sets his jaw.  “No.  You move back into _our_ room, and we figure out where we’re going from here.”  
  
“That’s ambiguous as hell, Bobby.  For all you know, you won’t be able to stand me anymore.  Or…whatever.  This could go spectacularly wrong.”  He reaches behind himself, groping around for the mug of hot chocolate, curling his hands around it and holding up in front of his face to take a sip, trying to get rid of some of the vulnerability by putting _something_  in between them.  
  
“…Your hands.”  Bobby cocks his head sideways, frowning.  “I did that, didn’t I?”  
  
There are scars on John’s hands from the frostbite.  They hurt, a lot of the time, still.  John won’t bring that up, is too nervous to.  “I was trying to kill you, Bobby.  Don’t get all guilty about my scars.”  
  
Bobby nods.  “Okay."  
  
"I mean it.  Don't...make it weird, or whatever."  
  
"I'll try," Bobby says, smiling a little, ruefully.  "I mean, I'm kind of the king of making things weird, though, aren't I?"  
  
That makes John crack a smile.  "Yeah, I guess you are,” he says.  
  
Bobby’s quiet for a moment.  “Come outside with me?” he asks, suddenly, but carefully, like he knows how weird it might be and feels bad about it.  
  
“In the rain?”  
  
He nods.  “It’s, um.  It’s okay if you don’t want to.”  
  
John almost says no, but there’s something in Bobby’s nervousness that won’t let him do it.  “No, I — I’ll go outside with you.  No big deal.”  
  
Bobby nods again, a little jerkier.  “Okay.”  He pauses for a few seconds, and then he reaches out and curls his hand around John’s wrist, tugging him toward the door.  
  
It aches a little, on a couple of levels.  John doesn’t know what to say, so he lets himself be pulled outside.  He realizes abruptly that he’s barefoot, and, as they step outside and the rain starts hitting them, he laughs.  
  
“John?” Bobby asks, twisting around at him and looking concerned.  “You okay?”  
  
“Yeah, I just — I realized, I’m not wearing any shoes.”  
  
He isn’t sure why that’s so funny, but it is.  
  
Bobby cocks his head to the side, but he’s smiling again, and somehow, that’s enough.  “Sorry, I guess.”  
  
John shakes his head, smiling himself now.  “I don’t even know why that’s funny.”  
  
“You have the weirdest sense of humor.”  Bobby’s still smiling at him, and this whole situation is absurd.  It’s raining, there’s thunder rolling in the distance, Bobby’s got his hand around his wrist, and it’s like nothing has ever been wrong in the world.  
  
“Says the guy who jokes about hypothermia,” John points out.  
  
Bobby rolls his eyes.  “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”  
  
John takes a step closer.  “Y’know…I think I get it.”  
  
“Get what?”  
  
“Why you like this so much.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” Bobby asks, his head cocked to the side.  “Really?”  
  
John nods.  “Yeah.  That stuff you said about being part of something bigger than yourself.  About…belonging.”  
  
“Yeah.  You get it now?”  
  
“Sort of.”  John breaks Bobby’s grip, only to slip his hand into Bobby’s and squeeze.  “I think I get the belonging part.”  
  
“…Oh,” Bobby says softly, squeezing back.  It’s tight enough to hurt, and John’s chest tightens at that, at the idea that Bobby might want this to work out as bad as he does.  
  
By now, they’re both soaked to the skin, and John takes another step closer.  “Is that okay with you?”  
  
Bobby nods, staring at him wide-eyed.  “Yeah.”  
  
“Good,” John murmurs.  “I — you were my best friend, too.  And I, I’m sorry I ruined it.”  
  
“You — you didn’t _ruin_  it.”  Bobby skims his thumb over John’s knuckles, looking at him with this intense sort of determination.  “It’s only ruined if we let it be.”  
  
John inhales sharply.  “And you won’t let it be.”  
  
“When have I ever?”  Bobby smiles a little, soft, a little sad.  
  
“Absolutely never.”  John bites his lip.  “And that — that’s a good thing, isn’t it?  Because I…I would’ve just let it sit.  Because that’s what I thought you’d want, after everything I did.”  
  
Bobby shakes his head.  “It’s not what I want.”  
  
“R-right.”  
  
There’s a long moment’s pause, and then Bobby pulls him close, curling his free arm around John’s waist.  He buries his face in John’s neck.  “I missed you.  Even when I wanted to hate you.  I missed you.”  
  
John goes statue-still.  “I’m sorry.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“Do you?”  John shifts uncomfortably.  “I never said.”  
  
Bobby pulls him closer.  “You made it kind of obvious, Johnny.”  
  
The nickname makes him ache a little.  He clumsily slides one hand into Bobby’s hair.  “Oh.  Okay,” he manages.  He wonders if the rain will hide it if he cries, because it seems like he’s going to.  
  
“I’m — I’m sorry, too.  About my parents, and Ronny.”  
  
John steps back, letting go and shaking his head emphatically.  “That wasn’t your fault, Bobby.  You didn’t do anything wrong.”  
  
Bobby looks at him.  “It wasn’t your fault, either.”  
  
“Yeah, but I’m the one who set your front lawn on fire over it.”  
  
“You thought we were gonna get shot.”  Bobby bites the inside of his cheek.  “You didn’t know Logan was still alive, either.”  
  
John bites his lip.  “You shouldn’t be defending me.”  
  
“Somebody should be, if you won’t defend yourself.”  
  
“Bullshit.”  He’s done some pretty indefensible things, and most of them come out of that day on the Drakes’ porch.  
  
Bobby frowns.  “Could you not, maybe?  I — I want to make things better.  I don’t want to fight about this.”  He shifts his weight from one foot to the other.  “I know you’re not going to agree, and I’m okay with that.”  
  
John nods.  “Okay.”  It’s that easy, apparently.  
  
“Thank you,” Bobby murmurs, and steps toward him, almost tentatively.  
  
“I…I kind of really want this to work out,” John says quietly.  “Kind of a lot.”  
  
“Me too.”  Bobby bites his lip and reaches for John’s hand again, taking it when John doesn’t pull away.  “So…are we on the same page?  No more acting like…like you’re alone?”  
  
John edges closer.  “Yeah.  Yeah, we’re…”  
  
But they’re not, not really, because John’s been in love with Bobby since they were fourteen, and he’s even more in love with him than ever right now.  Bobby doesn’t know that, and he never has, and John thinks that maybe he should.  
  
Bobby frowns.  “What is it?”  
  
“I…”  
  
At the last moment, he chickens out.  “It can wait.”  
  
“It shouldn’t have to.”  Bobby squeezes his hand.  
  
John nods.  “I…I’ll tell you later.  Can we just…take a walk, or something?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
So that’s what they do.  Hand in hand, in the thunderstorm, they take a walk around the gardens.  It’s perfect and not enough, and John thinks, as they draw back toward the door to the school, _soon._  
  
He’ll tell Bobby soon.


End file.
